i could see for miles, miles, miles

was where we learned to celebrate.

and at once i knew, i was not magnificent.

i could see for miles, miles, miles, laying

there in the dirt, wanting to celebrate when

there was nothing to celebrate

other than the miles, miles, miles

seek and ye shall find

"What do you see?"

"I see the universe."

"That's it. That's where the real gods of the universe write what they write. Your God writes in words. The gods I'm talking about write in galaxies and star systems and planets and oceans and forests and whales and birds and gnats.

"This is what you're after. This is the Law of Life."

A few weeks ago, my car was dark, faces lit only by the glow of the dashboard, and I was breathing the sweet mountain air that I long for when I'm away. A question came from the backseat, echoed by the passenger seat, and I fell silent, downshifting to gear up for the ascent.

"Why don't you go to church anymore?"

And we were entering Yosemite.

I wanted to say, "Welcome to my cathedral."

God has written it all before us, and it is written in those domes and sheer cliffs. Written into the 3,000 year old trees. All the things we have forgotten.

Welcome to my cathedral. Seek and ye shall find that in the seeing, in the stopping, in the breathing, shall we find all that was lost.